Testing The Water
by hemmerly
Summary: RickMelinda. Melinda feels twinges of discontent in her perfect marriage, and the sudden dryspell of supernatural activity leaves her worried and restless. Could Professor Payne provide an unlikely source of help?
1. Chapter 1

I am fascinated by the Rick/Melinda relationship, and I am not ashamed to admit it! So if you don't like the idea of these two, then please don't be mean. I have no idea if I will continue this or not, but I wanted to get it out there I guess.

Disclaimer- I do not own these characters or anything from Ghost Whisperer.

Chapter 1

Melinda hugged her plush brown sweater tighter around her, staring listlessly at the kettle that was warming to a boil on the stove. The harsh winter air rapped persistently at the kitchen window, thickening the cloudy layer of frost already adhering to the edges of the glass pane in intricate, spiderwebbing patterns.

_Jim should be home soon_, she distantly mused, holding her hand over the heat emanating from the burner. The thought, which only a month ago would have sent a warm tingle down her back, now only filled her with a sort of emptiness. She sighed, loathing this new and persistent void in what was supposed to be a perfect married life.

It _was _perfect, by all appearances. She and Jim loved each other with an intensity to be envied by other married couples, and Jim's constant support and adoration, especially given her unique supernatural circumstances, was something Melinda knew she could never find elsewhere.

None of this had changed. She loved Jim just as much as she had loved him on their wedding day. However, the perfect bliss of young married life had begun to ebb, and Jim was discussing children. True, he had said he would wait for her to be ready, but there was a hint of disappointment and yearning in his tone that Melinda immediately registered. She knew Jim earnestly wanted kids, and the thought of letting him down, he who had loved and helped her so selflessly, ate her up inside.

The boiling kettle began its high-pitched wail, and Melinda snapped from her reverie and removed the water from the heat.

She wanted children, too. But she knew the time had not yet come, and she had no idea when she would feel ready. How could she have a child when ghosts were continuously knocking down her door, assaulting her with their problems? Melinda knew she needed to hone her skills before becoming responsible for a human life.

She sighed deeply, taking a shallow sip from her steaming cup of tea as she moved to the window and contemplated the heavy gray sky. For the first time, she found herself wishing a ghost would make an appearance. Maybe some voodoo, a nice zombie, pesky poltergeist, anything. Anything to distract her from her unsettling comtemplations.

Jim had begun to notice her melancholy. Of course he had, attentive as he is. Melinda always brushed off his inquiries good-naturedly, mentally kicking herself for not concealing her darker feelings more skillfully. This would subside, she told herself. A normal stumbling block for any married couple, hence the expression "the honeymoon is over".

A quiet ringing filled the kitchen, and Melinda walked to the kitchen table and flipped open her cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey honey, it's me," came Jim's reply, the sound of other voices in the background almost drowning his out.

"Hey, heading home?" Melinda asked, though anticipating his answer.

"No, I got tapped for a double shift. Bad car accident on the interstate and they needed extra hands. Don't wait up for me," he explained, before dropping his voice suggestively. "I'll make it up to you."

"I'm holding you to that," she replied, smiling. "Be careful out there."

"I will," he said, before yelling something to someone. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll check in around nine."

"Ok, sounds good. Bye Jim," she responded, flipping the phone closed and replacing it on the table.

The light outside was beginning to fade, and Melinda shot a cursory glance around the empty kitchen before electing to grab dinner, then take a hot bubble bath. This would be nice, she decided. Exactly what she needed- to relax, collect her thoughts, and remind herself how lucky she was to have such a wonderful life.

Barring the ghosts, of course.

----

Melinda sank into the steaming tub, the thick, lavender-scented bubbles sizzling around her as the almost-too-hot water illuminated her cheeks with a delicate flush. She flipped her dark hair over the side of the tub, relishing the lethargy now stealing over her relaxed body.

"Mmm," she sighed, sinking lower and catching the bath faucet with her toes. Now this was living.

Her cell, sitting next to the tub, began to softly ring, and Melinda smiled at Jim's punctuality. She stretched a soapy hand down and grabbed it before settling back and flipping it open.

"You," she murmured, eyes closed contentedly and smiling, "are missing a _very_ satisfying bubble bath."

A beat, followed by an amused, "Am I?"

Melinda eyes shot open and she bolted upright in the tub, immediately recognizing Professor Rick Payne's Jersey-accented voice. No other person could inject every syllable with so much smug self-satisfaction.

"Why don't you paint me a very detailed word picture over the phone until I can get there and yes, I am literally halfway to your house already," he continued, smirking.

In his office, Payne leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk, smiling broadly at the muffled sounds of splashing on the other end of the line.

After a moment, Melinda returned to the phone, having jumped hastily from the tub and wrapped a towel around her dripping form.

"What do you want?" she hissed, her cheeks now tinged with embarrassment as she tightly clutched the towel around her.

"Start with what you are, or are not, wearing, and we'll go from there," came his teasing reply.

Melinda rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth angrily.

"I'm hanging up," she announced, pulling the phone from her ear.

"No no no! I'm sorry, I'm done, I'm done!" he exclaimed, laughing, and she reluctantly replaced the phone.

"The only reason I am still talking to you right now is because I have a suspicion you have something ghost-related to tell me, and I've been spoiling for a good ghost," she said, shivering slightly as water dripped down her legs.

"That's interesting," he mused with a grin, then adding before he could stop himself, "Sounds like you're spoiling for something else entirely…"

Melinda promptly hit the red button on her cell to end the call, clicking her tongue in disgust.

Payne chuckled before flipping his own phone shut and contemplating it for a moment, a smile lingering on his lips. Setting the cell on the desk, the professor turned to the papers covering his desk and ran his eyes blankly over the passages on Mayan religion. Normally, graphics and descriptions of grisly ritualistic human sacrifice captured his attention, but Payne seemed unable to make himself focus.

_The Mayans performed sacrifices according to priests' interpretation of the cycles of the heavens and earth…_

_God, so that was the Melinda that Jim knew. Her voice, low and suggestive, and Jesus, she'd been naked…_

"Damn it!" Payne yelled, leaping out of his chair angrily. "Damn. It!"

He stormed over to the bookshelf and began grabbing books from a box and slamming them onto the shelf.

"You're sick," he muttered. "You're sick, and she's married."

It was the unattainability, he had decided. At first, she'd been a mere nuisance, always barging in and bombarding him with questions and noise. Of course he had flirted, but only because it always made her squirm uncomfortably. Then, he stopped minding so much when she arrived, and months passed before he could resolve himself to the unsettling fact that he actually looked forward to seeing her. And this should have been the moment when a red flag warned him from becoming too attached.

But he'd become too cocky, too self-assured to ever believe that someone like Melinda Gordon, so achingly cheerful and irritatingly optimistic, could ever truly affect him. Yet she had done it, had burrowed her crafty way into beneath his defenses, insinuated her presence into his life, and now he was consumed by her.

Payne still had no idea how she had done it. But it was done, and he wished he could go back in time and slam the door in her face the first time she showed up at his door.

Then again, this was Melinda Gordon. She would never have given up so easily. And besides that, he had on several occasions all but thrown her out of his office, and look how much good that had done.

His furious shelving slowed to a halt, a smile curling his lips as he contemplated Melinda's endearing determination. Then, remembering himself, the smile vanished.

"No!" he exclaimed firmly, throwing another book onto the bookcase. "Not endearing, annoying and headstrong!"

He was trudging through life knee-deep in his infatuation. She was everything, and he was fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The light jingle of bells announced Melinda's arrival to her shop, "Same As It Never Was". She closed the door behind her and inhaled deeply the familiar, comforting scent of the antiques. Never had a Monday seemed so appealing to Melinda- a good, solid day of work that would take her mind off of everything else. Besides, she was far more likely to find restless spirits outside of her home, although recently it seemed that ghosts had somehow fallen off the face of the planet. Why did they suddenly disappear when she needed their creepy distractions the most?

Predictably, Delia had already arrived and was diligently working on stock inventory. Melinda smiled with gratitude at her friend's dependability, choking back the feeling of guilt that was creeping over her. She had promised Delia to complete inventory herself this month, but uncharacteristically had failed to actually yet touch the task. In fact, she had completely forgotten about it.

"Good morning," Delia greeted cheerfully, looking up from her clipboard and smiling.

"Delia," Melinda began, biting her lip and smiling guiltily. "I am so sorry about the inventory-"

"Honey, please, I know you've had a lot on your mind recently," Delia assured her friend with a warm smile, though eyes were inquiring.

Melinda stepped behind the counter, shedding her long white jacket and purse while subtly avoiding eye contact.

"I guess I've just been a bit preoccupied," she responded vaguely, hoping Delia wouldn't press. "Just a little funk. But I'm fine now."

Shooting her associate a doubting glance, Delia approached the counter and set the clipboard down with a sigh.

"Ok, what's up?" she queried, tilting her head and contemplating Melinda with concern. "You've been so distant. You haven't had that same…brightness recently."

"It's really nothing," Melinda replied lightly as she busied herself with straightening the little knickknacks sitting next to the register.

Delia raised her eyebrows, unconvinced. Melinda glanced over, an unexpected wave of annoyance flashing through her before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She brushed off the shocking response and forced a light laugh, turning fully to her friend.

"It's nothing," Melinda repeated firmly, "Just a mood."

She smiled, pressing her hand briefly over Delia's that was resting on the counter.

"But thank you," she said sincerely.

"I just want to know that you would talk to me it there was something," Delia replied, concern still evident on her face.

"Well," Melinda began as she walked over to the shelves against the far wall and began to organize the candle display, "There's nothing to worry about, I assure you. Everything is perfectly fine."

"Ok," said Delia reluctantly, giving up for the moment but by no means persuaded. She picked up the inventory list and recommenced the task.

Melinda continued to busy herself with meaningless chores around the store, steadfastly ignoring the occasional glances of concern from her friend. Stifling her gnawing feelings of discontent around Jim was one thing, but the prodding questions and perpetual worry from Delia was downright wearisome. Melinda felt deceitful and low, lying to the people closest to her and yet unable to admit aloud why she felt unhappy.

_What's wrong with me, Delia? Oh, I just don't want to have what would undoubtedly be a beautiful child with a man who is a dream husband and who would be an amazing father. I'm just not ready for such a perfect situation, and I can't even look Jim in the eye because of it. In fact, his perfection only makes me more upset. And, by the way, I miss seeing ghosts._

Melinda held back a bemused snort, disbelieving her own insanity. How could she ever admit such selfish thoughts to Delia, a strong, loving mother whom Melinda held in great esteem? Delia would love to find a man with whom to raise her son, and here she, Melinda, was unable to deal with a loving husband eager to start a family. No, there was no need to explain any of this incomprehensible mess to anyone, because it would soon pass, and no one would ever have to be the wiser.

Now finished with the inventory, Delia moved to the counter and put away the clipboard.

"So how did last night go with Jim?" she asked conversationally, trying to draw out some cheer.

"Oh," Melinda said, shaking herself out of her thoughts and realizing Delia was referring to the romantic dinner she had planned with her husband. "It actually didn't happen. Jim had to stay late at work."

"That's too bad," Delia answered sympathetically.

"Yeah, well, I know they're short-staffed right now at the hospital, and it's been hard on Jim. And it's fine, I mean, we have every night to have a quiet dinner," Melinda continued dismissively, secretly wishing she could somehow change the subject.

In reality, she had been bitterly disappointed when Jim had called and informed her of the change in plans. Melinda had intended the evening as a chance to reconnect with her husband, and though she knew how much he was needed at work and how important it was for Jim to gain as much hands-on experience as possible given his aspirations to become a doctor, she couldn't help but feel frustrated by his constant absence.

Delia shot Melinda another surreptitious look of concern, noting her young friend's sudden return to melancholy. The quick glance did not go unnoticed, and suddenly Melinda felt suffocated in the small store. She realized she would never last a day of Delia's well-meant attention, which would only serve to remind her of the problems she wanted to avoid.

"You know, I actually think I feel a little under the weather," Melinda said apologetically. "Will you be ok if I took the day off and rested?"

"I sure will be," Delia responded. "Are _you_ going to be ok?"

"Of course! I just need some downtime," she answered, grabbing her coat and bag.

She strode quickly from the store, heaving a sigh of relief as soon as she stepped outdoors. Her heeled boots tapped lightly against the pavement as she walked to her car, got in, and started the ignition.

Then flipped on the radio and flicked through several stations before settling on a breezy pop tune.

Then turned the heat up just slightly.

Then readjusted the mirror.

Then…nothing.

Melinda bit her lip, tapping her gloved fingers on the steering wheel as she glanced around the town. The streets of Grandview were quiet, and few people were brave enough to venture outdoors on the cold Monday morning.

She thought of going home, but somehow the idea was less than appealing. The rooms would be still and full of Jim's presence, and Melinda didn't relish the idea of spending another solitary afternoon in contemplation of how incredibly screwed up she was.

What she needed was distraction, and company. Someone far too wrapped up in himself to ever notice a problem in her…

Melinda paused, tried to talk some sense into herself, then sighed and put the car into drive.

----

"Professor Payne?"

Melinda knocked at the open door as she entered the small office, glancing around for the missing professor.

A light groan answered her query, coming from behind the tall stacks of books on the desk. Melinda approached and peered over the piles, smiling when she saw Payne had fallen asleep over an open book.

"I'm not changing that grade," he mumbled in his sleep.

"Professor," Melinda whispered loudly, then assumed her regular voice. "Professor Payne."

Payne stirred, then opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head. He regarded Melinda for a moment through sleepy, hooded eyes.

"Is this _that_ dream?" he asked in a raspy tone, though Melinda detected the underlying playfulness.

"I don't think so," she answered dryly, folding her arms as a small smile curled her lips.

Payne grinned, stretching his arms above his head and stifling a yawn. "Must've…fallen asleep here last night."

As he combed his fingers quickly through his short blonde hair, attempting to smooth down the tufts where he had lain sleeping, Payne regarded Melinda with suspicion.

"Melinda Gordon. What supernatural phenomenon has driven you to my door at this hour?" he asked. "Did you find a ghost swimming in your morning coffee?"

"This hour," she began, looking at her watch, "Is 9 o'clock, which is hardly too early for visitors."

"Yeah, well, there are some visitors for which I need to brace myself," he replied, standing up and tucking in his collared shirt. "Such as those who might come bearing information on, say, the impending apocalypse or maybe a rising army of demons. Or something of that nature."

"Ugh, why do you keep people like that around?" she tsked in mock incredulity, eliciting an amused smile from Payne.

"What can I say?" he responded, holding his arms out resignedly. "Word has spread about my genius, and now I have all sorts beating down my door and wanting my help."

"I'm sure," she replied with a laugh. "Well, no worries, I was actually coming to see if _you_ had something for _me_."

Her expectant eyes followed him as he walked to his mirror and began retying his tie. "There must have been a reason for your call the other night."

"Actually," he said distractedly, tightening the fresh knot and turning to face her. "There is something."

Melinda immediately brightened.

"Well?" she asked curiously as he brushed past her and approached his computer desk.

"Yeah, it's been haunting my office ever since your last visit," Payne threw over his shoulder as he moved aside some books.

After a moment he found what he was looking for and came back to stand in front of Melinda, holding a black sweater.

"Maybe you can communicate its way out of here," he joked with a small grin, handing it to her before returning to his chair.

Melinda's expectant face crumbled, her lips quirking into a bemused smile.

"Thanks," she said flatly, folding the sweater and sinking into the seat opposite Payne. "I was wondering where I left it."

"Well, this is why I got my doctorate," he explained, rifling through the papers on his desk. "So that my office could become a glorified Lost and Found."

She snorted, and Payne glanced over and smiled softly at the grin on her face.

"So I guess that was it, then?" Melinda asked, absently picking at the fuzz on her sweater and trying to keep disappointment from tingeing her words. "You were just calling about the sweater? Nothing else?"

His smile faded and he suddenly shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I mean, I figured you would be looking for it, so I wanted to put your mind at ease," he replied defensively, his voice rising as he began to rant. "Does there always need to be a ghost involved before I can contact you? And what's wrong with me wanting to keep a clean office, huh? Do I ask for you to come in here, chattering about whiney spirits and tossing your clothes around like it's your personal room?"

"Sorry!" Melinda answered angrily, jumping out of the chair. "Look, I can see that you're busy, I'll just get out of your way."

She wheeled around and began to walk out when Payne quickly stood.

"Melinda!" he yelled, and she jumped and turned around with a glare.

He winced and held up his hands apologetically.

"Sorry," he said in a normal tone, taking a deep breath. "Sometimes I forget to- control the volume of my voice."

"No kidding," she answered, folding her arms and cocking a brow.

He skirted around his desk and came to stand in front of her.

"Look, did you need something?' he asked, looking at her inquiringly. "I assume you have some ambiguous question to ask me about pagan gods, or maybe the number three."

It was Melinda's turn to squirm uncomfortably, and she dropped her arms to her sides.

"I- no, I…just wanted to check in," she answered slowly, evasively, before smiling brightly and holding up the black sweater. "And to get this."

With that, she quickly pivoted towards the door and made to leave. However, Payne was faster and his arm shot out across the doorframe directly in front of her, barring her exit.

"Are you ok?" he asked seriously, looking down at her searchingly.

Melinda heaved a sigh and met his concerned gaze.

"Please don't ask me that," she replied tiredly, before ducking under his arm and striding quickly out of sight down the hall.

Payne watched her retreating form with a furrowed brow, before pushing off the doorframe and mentally kicking himself for scaring her off.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Melinda awoke from her light slumber to the quiet opening and closing of drawers. Smiling sleepily, she turned in bed to see Jim's silhouette against the window, clumsily shedding his paramedic uniform and changing into his pajamas in the dark room.

"Hey," she greeted, and he looked up sharply.

"Hey babe," he whispered. "Sorry if I woke you."

"No, no, I'm glad you did," she said, lifting up the bed covers invitingly as he slid into bed beside her.

Jim settled against the pillows, sighing happily.

"Oh, it's never felt so good to be in bed," he said, with a groan of satisfaction.

"Well," Melinda replied slowly, sliding her body next to his and running her small hand down his chest. "I can think of a few ways of making it a whole lot better."

She began placing languorous kisses along the muscle of his bare shoulder, working her way along his collarbone and nipping lightly at his throat.

"Mmm," he moaned, "Honey, you have no idea how good that sounds, but I am honestly beat."

Her ministrations abruptly stopped, and she raised her head and looked at him with a pout.

"You're always tired," she said, resting her chin on his chest.

"I know," he answered apologetically, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "It's just been really insane at work, and with studying on top of that-"

"No, you're right," Melinda interrupted, laying back on her own side and sighing. "You've been killing yourself, you should rest."

"I'll be back on top of things soon," he promised, leaning over and placing a quick peck on her lips. "When, or if, I survive at least my MCAT's, we can start settling down."

He gathered Melinda in his arms, and after only a few moments his even breathing signaled his slumber. However, Melinda lay wide awake, her fingers playing absently over his embracing arm as his last words resonated unpleasantly in her ears.

----

"Thanks, come back soon!" Melinda called to the exiting customers with a smile.

"And you said we would never sell that art nouveau clock," Delia remarked after the door closed behind the couple, grinning at her friend's bewildered expression.

"Ok, but you have to admit, that was an ugly clock!" Melinda exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I guess I should be thanking you for insisting that we try to sell it. I think I must be losing my touch."

Her shoulder slumped slightly in dejection, and Delia's smile dropped when she noticed it.

"Hey," she said soothingly, laying a comforting hand on Melinda's shoulder. "It's just a clock. It doesn't mean a thing."

"Yeah," she answered, turning from Delia and placing the receipt copy in the register drawer. "It's just a clock."

Delia put a hand on her hip, fixing her gaze intently on Melinda.

"Alright," she said firmly. "You've been moping around this place for the past couple weeks, and I want you to be straight with me. What is it? Is there some new ghost? Financial problems? Jim? What?"

Melinda looked up sharply, shocked by the abrupt inquiry. Damn, she wasn't prepared for this, why had she so stupidly underestimated Delia's perceptibility? Ok, this was it. She needed to be honest and finally get everything off her chest. _Just tell Delia. Maybe she'll understand…_

_No! She was too ashamed. What could she say? Deny there's a problem?_

Delia was waiting patiently, yet clearly anticipating a response, and Melinda was suddenly overcome with the crazy urge to literally run out of the store and drive away…

The ring of bells over the door broke into the confrontation, and Melinda turned gratefully to the newcomer.

"Hi! Welcome to-" she began in a false chipper tone, breaking off when she recognized Professor Payne.

"Hi!" she greeted, sincere happiness to see him emanating from her bright smile. Relief flooded through her, and she kept her gaze fixed upon him and averted from Delia.

Payne approached the register table where the two women were standing, slightly taken aback by the warmth of her expression.

"Hey," he answered slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion as he regarded her cautiously. "Ok, you're happy to see me, which means something is very wrong."

"I'm going to take a quick walk with Professor Payne," Melinda said to Delia, ignoring his comment as she grabbed her purse and coat. "Be back in a bit."

"You are?" Payne asked, his confusion mounting as he watched her quickly button her jacket over her red dress.

"Yeah, remember we had to finish discussing that thing we were talking about before?" she asked, shooting him a look.

"Oh," Payne replied, still obviously bewildered. "That…thing."

Melinda grabbed his arm and pulled the surprised professor toward the door, calling a goodbye over her shoulder.

"Bye…" Delia answered to the now empty shop, watching curiously as Melinda and Payne walked past the window and out of sight.

----

Melinda breathed deeply as she strode down the sidewalk, Payne following uncertainly in her wake.

"Am I ever glad that you showed up," she threw over her shoulder, before muttering incoherently to herself.

Payne shot a confused look at the back of her head.

"What?" he asked in exasperation, almost jogging to keep up with her. "Hey! Will you just- could- could just you hold on-"

He gently grabbed her upper arm and spun her around to face him.

"For a second! Jeez, the _speed_ you can maintain in those ridiculous, yet…" he began, tilting his head as he gazed down appreciatively at her black stiletto heels, "alluring shoes."

Melinda stiffened as his eyes lingered a moment too long, sliding from her heels to her shapely legs. It wasn't as if his behavior was unexpected- Payne always flirted awkwardly with her- but for some reason, she couldn't make herself brush off the heated glance so easily.

"Stop," she said to him, forcing the customary amused irritation into her tone and hoping he wouldn't detect the underlying note of urgency.

He didn't, and he smiled guiltily before assuming a serious expression.

"Melinda, what is going on?" Payne asked, his eyes fixed upon her face. "First you visit my office for no apparent purpose, a not unwelcome but highly uncharacteristic move, and then I walk into your store and feel like I've just interrupted a very intense scenario. Aren't you and Delia supposed to be like this?"

He held up his pointer and middle fingers twisted together in the symbol of closeness. Melinda looked away.

"Yeah, well, it's really not something I want to talk about," she said quietly, walking past him.

Payne sighed impatiently and ran in front of her, blocking her path.

"I don't like to keep running after you," he in a low voice, standing close to her. "Mostly because I know how much _I_ hate it when people come into my personal space uninvited and demand to know answers, no matter how resistant I am."

He looked at her pointedly, and she rolled her eyes.

"But," he continued, "You've never given up on me. So-"

He stepped back and held out his arms. "Hit me."

Melinda contemplated him, feeling her defenses beginning to unexpectedly crumble.

"Ok, there may be a problem you can help me with," she conceded, and Payne clapped his hands together in triumph, rubbing them earnestly.

"I haven't been receiving many ghostly visitors recently," she said. "As in none. Zero."

His hand rubbing stopped abruptly, and Payne looked at her incredulously.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you said something was _wrong_!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Melinda muttered. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Melinda, why on earth would you be upset about this? You finally have a chance at a normal life! No ghosts!" he yelled, causing a lady walking past on the sidewalk to look sharply over.

Melinda shot the lady a tight smile before glaring at Payne and pulling him closer to the side of the building.

"Look," she said in a quiet voice. "I've always helped spirits cross over. It's what I was made to do, why I have my special ability. These ghosts are people who need help- who deserve a chance at peace. If I can't get them to cross over, who will?"

Payne opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Exactly. I need to figure out what's going on. So can I count on your help?" she asked.

He regarded her for a moment, shaking his head slowly.

"You're unbelievable," he murmured, before sighing. "What do you want me to do, Google search 'how to see dead people again after they stop hanging around'?"

"You said you wanted to help me!" Melinda exclaimed, her patience snapping.

"I do," he answered sincerely. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll do my best to figure out what's going on."

She drew a deep breath and nodded.

"Ok. Thanks," she said. "I should get back."

"Wait," he said. "Is there anything else that's happened recently? Some event in your life that might have caused the spirits to be all standoffish?"

Melinda bit her lip and looked away.

"No," she answered, "I can't think of anything like that."

"Ok, well, I'll keep in touch," Payne promised, and Melinda nodded with a grateful smile before brushing past him and making her way back towards her shop.

----

The living room walls flickered in the dim candlelight, and soft thumps filled the room as Melinda threw the large throw cushions from the sofa onto the floor. Dressed in comfy sweats and a tee shirt, she sank to the floor and assumed a cross-legged position on the pillows.

"Ok," she muttered after drawing a sip of red wine from her glass, closing her eyes and slowly rotating her shoulders in an attempt to relax.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out. She focused her mind, trying to achieve a state of openness. After speaking with Professor Payne earlier, his questions had triggered a realization. Maybe she'd been too wrapped up in her own problems to see the ghosts, and her negativity had been turning them away.

Melinda concentrated all her energy on becoming wholly clear and receptive, and she could almost feel the presence of ghostly spirits nearby. But these sensations were continuously disrupted, as if she were getting bad reception. Her brow furrowed as she endeavored to make contact, but it was futile.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed in frustration, punching the pillows beside her.

For the next thirty minutes, Melinda repeated this process only to experience the same results. It was as if a thin wall separated her from the spirits- she could vaguely sense them, but beyond that, she felt nothing.

Feeling the fatigue from the intensity of such prolonged focus, Melinda reluctantly abandoned her task for the evening and stood. One by one, she blew out the candles, then placed the cushions back where they came from. It was late evening, and Melinda knew Jim would be home any minute. For some reason she didn't wish to investigate, she wanted to be asleep when he got back.

----

A/N- I know, I know, just bear with me. Jim bores me as much as he probably does you.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Answers. You have them, I need them."

Melinda swept into Payne's office and stood before his desk. For his part, Payne just looked at her from his chair with surprise, his pen stopped mid word on his notes.

"So what do you have for me?" she asked.

"Well well well," he said with amusement, leaning back and smiling. "Someone put on their bossy boots this morning. I gotta say, the take-charge routine works for you. Kind of a turn on."

"It's been-" Melinda continued briskly, as if he hadn't spoken, "two days since I asked for your help. And I haven't heard from you since. I _need _answers. So what can you tell me?"

"What makes you think I know anything?" he asked, leaning forward. "True, I am something of a genius, but I am also a very in-demand guy, and these things take time-"

Melinda's face fell.

"Uh," she moaned unhappily, sinking into the chair opposite him. "You don't have anything."

Amusement evaporated from Payne's face, and he looked at her with concern.

"This is really important to you, huh?" he asked seriously, rising and coming around to where she was sitting. He perched against the side of his desk and regarded her closely. Her face was pale and drawn, and her normally warm brown eyes were distant. Granted, she was still a knock-out in her form-fitting, scoop neck blue dress and red heels, but Payne couldn't deny her perky demeanor seemed today subdued and tired.

"It is," she confirmed quietly, looking down and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Well, lucky for you I was just trying to build myself up before, and I in fact do have a very little something for you," Payne said. He smiled as her face lit up.

"Well?" Melinda prompted eagerly, and Payne shook himself out of his temporary lapse and laughed.

"Oh, man, you're feisty today! Ok, so I have nothing concrete to show you, just a theory. Believe it or not, there are no documented accounts of a person losing their ability to communicate with the supernatural and wanting to regain it," he began, pushing off the desk and going to his computer.

"There are, however, hundreds of cases where a person suffers a traumatic experience, like the death of a loved one, and afterwards claim they possess a sort of second sight, if you will, or at least the ability to sense the supernatural on a higher level than your average person. Present company excluded," he added.

"Until recently," Melinda answered. "So how does all this apply to me?"

"I'm getting there! You can't rush perfection," Payne exclaimed.

"How about mediocrity?" she returned with a raised brow, and he winced.

"That hurts," he said. "Really. Anyway, most experts agree this condition is purely a result of psychological trauma and the subjects' reports of seeing supernatural activity are dismissed merely as products of the very powerful human mind."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm crazy?" Melinda asked flatly.

"Lady, I've been telling you that from the beginning! But no, that's not what I'm getting at. I'm trying to say that your current inability to see ghosts might be some sort of reversal of this situation," Payne explained. "That some recent occurrence in your life might somehow be pushing these spirits away, or that there's a psychological barrier separating you from them."

Melinda considered his words, remembering the night before how it had felt like the spirits were there, but couldn't reach her.

"So how can it be overcome?" she asked.

"That's a good question, and one that I don't have the answer to. Which is an extremely rare occurrence, so savor this moment," Payne advised.

"No, what's rare is you're actually admitting it. So you don't have any guesses? No suggestions?" she queried, disappointed.

"Well," he said, returning to his desk chair. "I would try to discover exactly what's happened that might be blocking the spirits. Some emotional or physical event that's caused an internal upheaval of sorts. I mean, it shouldn't be too hard, given that an occurrence of that magnitude isn't something you're likely to forget easily."

"That's interesting," she mused. "Ok, well, thanks for your help."

She began to gather her things, and Payne watched her with shock.

"Interesting? That's it? You're leaving?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, yeah. I think I can take it from here," she said, standing from her chair. "But I really appreciate you looking into it for me,"

"Ok, once again, let's talk a little pro quo," Payne said, standing also and walking towards her. "I've answered your question, now you answer mine."

"Depends on the question," Melinda answered, clearly impatient to leave.

"Oh no! Nope, doesn't work that way. My question for you is: What's been going on with you recently? I'm not talking about ghosts. I'm talking about _you_," he pressed, his eyes trained on hers. "I'm talking about the knife-cuttable tension between you and Delia the other day, among other things. What's happened to derail your ability?"

To his dismay, Melinda's eyes suddenly welled up with tears. She hastily turned away from him and brushed them away, sniffing. Payne watched her for a beat, thoroughly shocked by the unexpected breakdown- to this moment, the only emotion she generally allowed him to see was bemused irritation. Yet after the initial surprise faded, he found himself fighting the urge to draw her into his arms and comfort her. And he was definitely _not_ the touchy-feely type of guy. Jesus, what had she done to him?

"Melinda?" he questioned gently. Reaching out a tentative hand, he lightly brushed his fingertips against her cheek, turning her face back towards him.

Reluctantly she met his gaze, and suddenly the atmosphere shifted violently from one of comforting friendship to…something else. Payne's hand was now fully cupping her cheek, and he titled his head and watched his fingers delicately brush a dark, soft curl of hair framing her face.

Melinda remained frozen in place, watching him uncertainly as she felt his fingers, surprisingly feather-light, play over the side of her face and then caress her hair. What was happening? His look, his eyes- he'd never looked at her this way before, with such intensity.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she finally asked, finding her voice.

Her question seemed to startle him, and his eyes flicked back to hers. His lips parted, as if in preparation to speak, but for the first time in their acquaintance, Payne seemed at a loss for words.

Suddenly, Melinda knew this was wrong. He was too close, and the look in his darkened eyes was too frightening. Whatever was happening right now with Professor Payne was crossing a line, and she needed to leave. Right now.

"I should go," she said loudly, breaking away from his touch and slinging her purse over her shoulder. "Thanks again for your help."

Payne watched as she practically ran from his office.

"Melinda, if you keep everything bottled up, your problems will only get worse!" he yelled after her, before sighing angrily.

"What the hell was that?" he asked aloud, running a hand nervously through his hair. This wasn't happening, he would not do this. Not after everything that had happened with Kate. How could he even think about another man's wife?

His eyes fell upon the chair she'd been sitting in, where Melinda's cell phone had evidently dropped from her pocket. Picking it up, Payne considered going after her, before deciding against it. Probably best to give her, and himself, some space.

----

Melinda jogged to her car and threw open the door before sliding into the driver's seat. She dropped her head to her hands, trying to control her erratic breathing and pounding heart. Oh God, what just happened? Either she was crazy, or Professor Payne had just been about to…

Oh God. Had he been about to kiss her? No, it isn't possible. Why would he do that? They had a mutual friendship based upon tolerance and irritation. At least, she'd thought it was mutual, now she wasn't sure what she knew anymore.

Why hadn't she pushed him away! Melinda's chest felt tight as she literally felt her stress level, which had already been considerable, increase. It had been a relief to let herself cry before, even if Payne did witness the embarrassing display. It was just something in his expression, something earnest and genuine that had momentarily unleashed her pent-up emotion.

Gritting her teeth, she stubbornly pushed the events that had followed her mortifying moment of weakness out her mind, determined to forget what had happened.

Jim. She needed to talk to Jim. Glancing at her watch, Melinda knew she had some time to get home and see him before he left for his night shift. She started the car and backed out, eager to get home.

----

"Honey?" she called out, closing the front door behind her and glancing around the house.

"Melinda, hey, I was wondering where you'd gone," Jim answered, walking out of the kitchen to meet her. "I was getting ready to head out, but I was hoping-"

Melinda interrupted him by wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling his head down for a passionate kiss. Jim, at first surprised, eagerly returned her advances before pulling away.

"Wow," he rasped. "Not that I'm complaining, but are you-"

She silenced him with another kiss.

"Please don't finish that question," she said breathlessly, desperately fumbling with the buttons of his collared shirt.

"Babe, I've got to be at work in ten minutes," he told her regretfully, holding her hands still within in his own.

"Can't you be late?" she asked.

"You know I can't," he answered, rebuttoning his buttons.

Melinda watched him, before spinning around and walking away from him. At the end of the hall, she turned around again to face him.

"Don't you want to spend time with me?" she asked, annoyed.

"Of course I do!" he answered, shocked. "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because you're never around! And when you are, we never seem to connect. Are we ok?" she asked worriedly.

"We're fine, Melinda. I know I've been busy, but we're still happy," he insisted. "This won't last forever."

And suddenly, Melinda realized that Jim hadn't noticed that anything was wrong with her. If he had, he would be far more concerned about her, would be questioning. But he wasn't doing any of those things.

"Ok," she said hollowly, going to the stairs. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," he affirmed, zipping up his jacket and opening the front door. "I love you."

With that, he swiftly exited the house, leaving Melinda standing uncertainly on the stairs, wondering if she was being melodramatic and selfish in feeling thoroughly neglected.

_He hadn't even noticed anything was wrong._

----

Climbing the front porch steps slowly, Payne glanced down at the little silver phone in his hand. Then, steeling himself, he pushed the doorbell.

A beat, then the front door swung open to reveal Melinda.

"Hi," he said loudly, holding up the cell. "You left this in my office, so I figured I should give it back so you can at least talk to the living, if not the dead."

"Professor Payne," she said slowly with a bright smile, sharply enunciating the p's.

Payne furrowed his brow in confusion as he noted her flushed cheeks and the bright shine in her eye.

"Whoa, wait," he said slowly, a surprised smile creeping over his face. "Are- you're drunk!?"

"Statement or question?" she asked with a coy smile, before turning her back and walking into the living room.

Payne stood uncertainly on the front step, looked around the neighborhood, then shrugged and stepped over the threshold, closing the front door behind him.

----

A/N Short, I know. Sorry to break it there. The next chapter should be up soon…

Also thank you everyone for the amazing reviews. You have no idea how happy they make me!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N- Happy Thanksgiving, everyone who is reading this! Just a quick thought I wanted to share- not loving Jay Mohr's recent weight gain, even though I know it's for a role. I like my Professor Payne à la early season 2, so that's what I'm going with! Also, thanks again everyone for reviewing, it keeps me going! So, on that note, I'm really hoping you enjoy the new chap…

Chapter 5

Payne stepped into the dimly lit living room, glancing around to find Melinda standing by the coffee table, pouring red wine into a glass. She was holding the cup directly in front of her face, her brow furrowed with concentration as the liquid sloshed in her unsteady hold. Finally filling the glass, she set the bottle down with a loud clunk and drank deeply.

Melinda smacked her lips and focused her eyes on Payne.

"Did you want to see Jim?" she asked in a thick voice. "Because he is not. Here."

"Honestly, I can't remember the last time I've wanted to see Jim," he answered, holding up the cell phone. "Just came to give this back to you."

He set the phone on the hallway table and walked slowly towards Melinda, who was drawing another long sip of wine.

"Ok, you can leave now," she said dismissively.

"So why are we so thirsty tonight?" he inquired conversationally, consciously masking his concern as he picked up the wine bottle and swished around its depleted contents. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not thirsty," she denied, wrinkling her nose in confusion. "Are you thirsty?"

She held out her glass as she brushed past him, and Payne deftly caught it just before she let it go.

Melinda sank onto the sofa with a light "oomph", leaning against the plush cushions and throwing an arm over her eyes.

"I'm glad you brought back my phone, because I was looking and looking and looking for it," she rambled drunkenly, but he didn't answer. His eyes were riveted to where her robe had fallen open, revealing a slinky black silk negligee.

Pulling her arm from her face, she noticed his stare and looked down at herself.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, drawing her robe tightly around her and glaring. "I thought Jim was coming home. But. He isn't. He's working overnight. Again."

"Ah," Payne answered, nodding in understanding as he sat on the edge of the coffee table to face her. "Is that when you broke out the booze?"

"Don't pretend like you know anything about me!" she snapped. "And I did not break out any booze- I began to enjoy a nice vintage."

"Ok, ok!" he answered, hands held up in surrender. Then he gestured to the wine. "Did you 'enjoy' that entire bottle yourself?"

"Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "But I maybe had a few glasses."

Payne looked at her with surprise, his lips quirked in an amused smile. "A few glasses? And you're _this_ smashed? Melinda Gordon, you're a pathetic lightweight!"

"Well, you're…pathetic!" she shot back lamely, mind clouded from the alcohol, before imperiously adding, "I could drink you under the table in a second."

"Ok, well, as much as I'd like to test _that_ ridiculous claim, I'm pretty sure the attempt would cause your liver to spontaneously combust," he responded.

She rolled her eyes, and he stood and walked into the kitchen. Melinda watched him go with surprise.

"Fine!" she called out, folding her arms. "Leave! I wanted you to anyway!"

She heard cabinets opening and closing, followed by the sound of running water before Payne returned, holding a glass of water.

"Here," he said, offering it to her. "Drink this."

"What is this?" she asked, peering at him suspiciously.

"It's called wa-ter," he enunciated slowly, as if speaking to a child.

She rolled her eyes. "Not this," she said, holding up the cup. "I mean this," she clarified, gesturing between them. "Why are you being so nice? It's weird."

"Probably because you're going to wake up tomorrow morning and remember pretty much nothing about this evening," he replied, before looking down at the floor. "And also because I know what it's like to have to drink yourself into a stupor in order to cope."

Melinda watched him as he fell quiet, before setting down the water glass.

"I want more wine," she announced, standing. She wavered uncertainly for a moment on her feet, before regaining her balance and heading for the wine bottle.

"I think you've had enough," Payne said, immediately shedding his momentary melancholy and snatching the bottle from her hand.

Melinda's mouth dropped open in indignation as she realized she was no longer holding the wine. She tried to reach for it, but he held it above her grasp.

"Hey! That's mine!" she angrily exclaimed, hands on her hips.

"Yeah, well I'm officially cutting you off, lady," he answered. "So why don't you go sleep it off."

"Why do you have to be so rude?" she asked in annoyance. "This is my house and that's my wine, so you can just leave!"

"I could," he agreed. "Or I could ask why dear Jim's not home to take care of his little missus."

"I already told you," she said, walking around him and into the kitchen unevenly, Payne not far behind. "He's out for the night. He's a paramedic."

She stumbled over this last word as she began opening and closing cupboards, searching through them.

"And a firefighter. He works a lot, saving people. He's going to be a doctor," she continued rambling, before turning and looking at Payne. "Isn't he good? That's what I like about him. He's so good."

Melinda smiled slightly, before returning to her task of rummaging through the kitchen shelves. Suddenly, she abruptly stopped and braced her hands on the counter, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"He's so good!" she cried.

"Ok, he's good! I know! I believe you!" Payne hurriedly assured her, not sure how to deal with the sudden mood swing. Man, she was a volatile drunk.

"And I'm horrible!" Melinda continued, tears falling down her cheeks in wet tracks. "I can't even look my wonderful husband in the eye, and the only person I can stand to be around anymore is an egotistical college professor! I'm a horrible person!"

"What? No! I mean, yes, horrible at lying and drawing, maybe, but a horrible person? No way," he answered, approaching her and placing a hand on her shoulder. Then, quietly, "You're the best person I know."

Melinda looked up at him, her face tear-stained.

"I am?" she asked hopefully, hiccupping.

"Melinda, you spend your free time risking your life to help ghosts, without a second thought. I think that's pretty great," he said sincerely.

She looked at him with a watery smile, before pouting.

"And I'm not a bad drawer. Or liar," she said petulantly.

"Whatever you say," Payne laughed, his hand dropping from her shoulder. A moment of silence lapsed between them as he looked at her. Her drunken state dulled her perceptibility, allowing Payne the rare opportunity to openly look at her with the fondness that normally made her chatter and look away nervously. His eyes dropped to her pouting lower lip and he was suddenly seized with the desire to capture it between his own.

However, Melinda was oblivious to the change that had come over him, and she sighed.

"I'm tired," she announced with a small frown, shrugging out of her robe and letting it fall to the floor with a light swish. "I have to go to sleep now."

She walked around him and made her way to the living room while Payne remained still for a moment and tried to collect himself. Drawing a deep breath, he reentered the living room, his eyes falling on Melinda. She was lying on the couch, already slumbering lightly.

He cut through the room towards the front door and made to leave, but despite himself spared one last look at Melinda. She was curled up on her side, her hands cushioned under her cheek. Sighing in disgust with himself, Payne took his hand from the doorknob and went back into the room. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa and shook out the folds, before laying it over her sleeping form.

"Dr. Rick Payne, babysitter," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. Whenever this woman was involved, he always seemed to sink to new and embarrassing lows.

Stealing one final glance at the soft shine of light on her thick brown curls and the pleasant red-pink tint of her cheeks, he turned to leave.

He almost made it to the door, when Melinda's tentative voice called, "Rick?"

He froze at the sound of his name falling from her lips, and slowly pivoted to face her. She was sitting up on the couch, her eyelids heavy from sleep and wine.

Throwing back the blanket, she stood and approached him, walking until she was directly in front of him.

Melinda rose on her tiptoes and positioned her mouth next to his ear.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he shivered at the feel of her lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

Then gasped when her soft lips captured his ear lobe, her teeth lightly pulling and nipping playfully, before moving down to the sensitive just below, at the juncture of his neck and jaw.

"Ah!" he exclaimed in surprise, stiffening. "I- uh" Words were not coming easily, though were clamoring to be formed.

Finally, logic penetrated the fog in his mind, and he placed his hands decisively on her shoulders and pulled away.

"Melinda," he said, panting slightly and holding her at a distance.

"What?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in perplexity as she shrugged off his hold. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought this was what you wanted."

"This isn't what _you_ want. You're drunk," he told her, guiding her back to the couch.

"I know wh-what I want," she spoke around a yawn, sleep already reclaiming her as she lay back down. "You- can't tell me what I-I want."

Payne drew the blanket back over her as she slipped into slumber once more, then quickly rose and strode for the door. He didn't look back, didn't wait for another distraction this time- the slight shake of his hands told him he may not be able to refuse another advance from Melinda so easily, morality be damned.

----

The rays of the early morning sun lit the sky with a pale pink brightness, peeking through the window. Melinda slowly awoke, groaning when she registered her splitting headache. Keeping her eyes closed against the offensive light, she tried to reclaim sleep, snuggling against her pillow.

"Somebody kill me," she moaned unhappily, her temples throbbing with pain.

Slowly, Melinda pushed herself to a sitting position, then cradled her head in her hands. Her eyes flickered open, and she realized she was not in her bed, but on the couch in her living room.

"Jim?" she called out, wincing when her own loudness induced a wave of nausea.

Silence answered her, and she squinted groggily at the clock on the mantle. 6am- Jim wouldn't be home for another couple hours.

Finally having accomplished the difficult task of orienting herself in time and space, Melinda rose from the couch and slowly crossed the room to the kitchen, seeking extra strength Advil.

So she'd been drinking last night- that much was certain. One glance at the near-empty bottle of wine on the counter confirmed this obvious assessment. After shaking two pills of Advil from the bottle and filling a glass of water, the events of the day began slowly to unveil themselves in her memory. Jim. Jim had gone to work, leaving her angry and upset. Then he'd called, informing her of his unexpected overnight shift. Cue the wine. After that, the recollections became more disjointed. Wine, then more wine, then…Professor Payne?

No doubt about it, he had definitely shown up last night- she couldn't deny her vague remembrance of him. But this was as far as her mind allowed, and Melinda sighed in annoyance. Damn it. Who knows how much of a fool she'd acted while he had been here? And of course he must have loved every minute- he probably committed every slur and stumble to memory as ammunition for future means of humiliating her with his little verbal barbs.

She gulped down the pills and chased them with water, before setting about the task of making a pot of strong coffee.

As much as she was loathed to admit it, Melinda knew what she had to do: march down to the college and face Professor Payne and get past the awkwardness of the situation. Besides, there must have been some valid reason for his visit. If he had made a breakthrough into her ghost plight, she wanted- needed- to know.

She just hoped he would take a break from his mocking comments about her drunkenness long enough to tell her.

----

"Professor Payne?" Melinda called out, peeking into the office nervously. Stepping inside, she gave the space a cursory glance before confirming he was indeed not there. Relief washed over her, and she turned on her heel to quickly leave before running directly into a solid chest.

She stumbled backwards with a short cry of surprise.

"Professor Payne!" she exclaimed, wincing guiltily as the stack of papers he'd been carrying fluttered chaotically to the floor. "Oh…I'm so sorry."

"Melinda! What, uh, are you doing here?" Payne asked, immediately dropping down and focusing his attention on collecting the papers together.

Melinda looked down at him with confusion, before dropping down herself to help him.

"What, no snide comments about how klutzy I am or how I'm making your life harder in some way?" she asked curiously, gathering the sheets in her arm.

"Uh, yes and yes," he answered distractedly, still not meeting her gaze. He took the proffered papers from her hands with a mumbled 'thanks' before quickly rising and going to his desk.

"Ok," Melinda stated after watching his bizarre behavior for a moment. "I know you came to my house last night when I was…a little tipsy. So come on, let's have it. I want to get all the insults out of the way first and leave this mortifying night behind me."

She held open her arms, waiting expectantly for what she anticipated would be a barrage of mocking. However, he just sat at his desk, intently organizing his papers and barely sparing her a glance.

"Look, I'm kind of busy right now, did you need something or did you just come to redecorate my office with my students' term papers?" he asked irritably, gesturing to the pile on his desk.

Her arms dropped to her sides and she looked at him, surprised and annoyed.

"Alright, I can see this is a bad time," she said, turning to leave. Then, she stopped and turned around. "Did I…do something?"

Payne looked up at her.

"It's just, you're not usually this…prickly," she explained. "And I don't remember anything about last night, so I guess I'm just wondering if I said or did something that upset you."

He leaned back in his chair and regarded her.

"You're absolutely dying to know everything that happened, aren't you?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, as if he'd just stated the obvious. "No, I mean, just- did I do anything particularly awful?"

"Oh, you mean besides the streaking and the horrific impromptu karaoke? Nope, nothing," he said.

"Ok, I can't laugh at that until you assure me it's a joke," she replied nervously.

He looked at her for a beat. "Nothing happened. I just went to your place to return your cell phone- which you left in my office-, we talked for a few minutes, and then you went to sleep. Pretty standard stuff, really."

Melinda smiled, relieved. "Well, I'm sorry if I bored you."

"You are many things, but never boring," he assured her, before becoming serious. "But there is something I wanted to ask you about, and I'm guessing you won't like it."

Her face fell and she looked at him suspiciously.

"It's just- last night, when we were talking, you mentioned something about Jim," he began carefully. "And suggested some…discord with him."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her.

"Look, I know you, and I know you're going to defend your manchild to the end, but I know what I heard. I think it, among other things, may help explain your ghost problem," Payne continued.

"What do you mean?" Melinda asked reluctantly, swallowing back her urge to deny everything he'd just said.

He stood from his desk and moved to his computer, where a familiar piece of equipment was set up and waiting.

"You remember our old friend, the Kirlian camera?" he asked, patting the machine fondly.

"Yeah," she confirmed, cocking a brow. "Why are we being reacquainted?"

Payne leaned over the keyboard, pressed in a few commands, then clicked the mouse.

"Yeesh!" he exclaimed, his eyes roving over the image on the screen. "Come here, I think you better have a look at this."

Worry gripped her as she slowly approached the monitor. Steeling herself, she looked down. It was a picture of herself, one that Payne had just taken the moment before. However, in place of her normal hazy pink aura was a dark black cloud.

She looked down at herself, then back at the screen. "I'm guessing that's not good."

----


End file.
